Gob's Bog - The Boggy Blog : A Lyrical Tryst With An Alternative Life

A Gob's Eye View

On a Boggy Saturday, July 31, 2004...

Gob's still on it...

Perseverance Pays ?

Past noon in the Bog, and the wasps are droning
Gob's little stomach is miserably moaning

But Gob heeds not, its lamenting cry
Pores over the scroll steadily, aiming high

Doggedly scrutinizes its every single part
Including the red circled script in its heart

It seems, however, to make no sense at all
Baffled Gob is, without any wherewithal

Perseverance, they say, pays in the end
Echo it to make lazy souls, their ways, mend

Sometimes however 'tis not the case
Whatever you do, failure licks your face

Follows you through hours of your toil
Whatever you do, its doggedness, you fail to foil!

So what do you do then? Do you sigh & accept it?
Drop resignedly and end up in the morose pit?

Of course not, you try and you try, till your chin is finally up
Whoop wildly & rush to celebrate with a champagne cup !

For all the failure licks are well worth their price
Roll without fail and land the 'six' in the dice

Sweet indeed is the glorious sight of success
After all, you escape the dreadful failure mess

Life anywhere and in Gob's Bog is almost the same
A rose and a fern are themselves, whatever their name

On a Boggy Thursday, July 29, 2004...

The Blue Scroll

A Gob's Eye View

Too much of ranting, now its time for some intrigue
Were ye not on the brink of a prosodic fatigue?

Gob's scroll lies waiting, beckoning thy eyes
Who knows what awaits in its powdery blue guise!

Gob's eager attention, it holds for pretty long
Bewitching Gob with its remote & arcane song

Funny rows of runic symbols are scattered as if in code
Could it be an esoteric attempt at penning an ode?

Gob's brows knit in an attempt to decipher it all
It now seems as tough as spotting ferns in the fall

On the background of blue is a bizarre pattern
Could it have been borrowed from the crypts of Wyvern?

Thin lines and thick lines of varied colours
Were they a part of secluded abstruse contours?

In the middle is a black script circled in red
Could it be the beginning of a ciphered thread?

A myriad of puzzles now seep into Gob's consciousness
Probably their answer lies hidden in an obscure recess

We will trust Time again to unravel their yarn
Exit now through Gob's carved lair door, cedarn

On a Boggy Tuesday, July 27, 2004...

The Bog-Long Itch...

Musings On Being "Different"

The light blue roll lies waiting, its mysteries shrouded in time
Gob eagerly unrolls it and finally, gets off the placid dime

Isn't it so irritating when things get postponed like they do?
Really want to do something?, Get a million other chores to woo!

When you want to sleep in the morn, "well-wishers" think you are sick
When you want to work at night, they tell you not to light the wick!

Conventions of this ridiculous world are so hard to understand
If Gob or me had our way, we would wave 'em off with a wand!

Alas we suffer from the same old fatal malady,
Squeezing ourselves into shape to pay the usurious fee

So how do we change our patterns of action and assert our very soul?
That is such a hard question, it could figure in a global tough poll!

In a Bog where denizens think only about their next hearty meal
Gob is hopelessly stuck for aeons, a classic and real raw deal

To be different is a predicament, a jellyfish among crabby hogs
It is totally a class apart than being gifted with the ways of bogs

For, being gifted is simply being good or perfect in a banality
But being different is a curse that to the world appears as a frailty

A way out of mundane existence hardly ever presents itself
The only means of freedom appears to be clawing out the pelf

On a Boggy Saturday, July 24, 2004...

The Arctic Warrior

At Gob's door...

Tindling Ting Ting Ta Ring goes Gob's doorbell
How different in their cadence, from the tolling knell!

The arctic warrior from the northern lands has chosen this day
To descend from his icy abode and come the boggy way

As Gob ushers him in, he gives his radiant cheerful smile
His deep blue eyes reflect Gob's face, devoid of any guile

No new news but of the Grauballine flight, but Gob is still delighted
The warrior's dulcet tones make interesting, even topics blighted

As he speaks, his deep blue eyes sparkle with a lambent light
His narration makes even awry things seem perfectly right!

Ah! But a new bit of information makes Gob's ears prick up
As Gob hears, his brew spills over from the ceramic cup

Seems the robbers of the rubbery beast were back at the crack of dawn
Hunting through the bog for something lost, seen by Gob's friend John

Searching furiously, they had ripped through curtains of boggy green
By the warrior's description, to Gob, they seemed ruthless & pretty mean

The warrior now hands over to Gob, a shining round disc
Rainbow lights spring off it in a coloured pattern, brisk

It seems he had found it in his icy domain, a few moons ago
Wedged in between the jagged rims of a massive floe

Now he gifts it to Gob with his characteristic beaming grin
Gob cannot help but smile at the little dimple on his chin

What does one do with a shiny disc?, Gob now secretly wonders
But one doesn't carp when one gets a gift from generous Alexanders!

They have some cookies from Gob's kitchen, plum flavoured and sugar free
Better to abstain, than court a disease that wins the pathological grand prix!

The arctic warrior now takes leave and floats off to boggy domains
The Bog has been made extra-slushy by yesterday's heavy rains

Now Gob has an additional reason to be curious about the purple thing
Gob is sure now that it was the reason for the robbers' newest boggy fling

On a Boggy Thursday, July 22, 2004...

Bog-xotic Brew...

For the merry shrew!

Gob has had enough of poring over fine print
It's time now to brush off the gossamer of brain-lint

Cheers to that Bog-xotic aromatic dark brew
Which turns any snail into a rustling shrew

Slithers past the window and scoops up the purple thing
Heads deep into the lair towards the kitchen wing

Right to the stove where a kettle merrily steams
Rips open a packet of brew, bursting at its seams

Oh! To breathe in that heavenly, piquant heady scent
Feel so invigorated, close to a cent per cent!

For such is the power of the brew that Gob now drinks
Drives away sloth, that hankering after forty winks

Sipping it, Gob flips over the purple creature
It splits up again to reveal its hollow feature

In a corner is, rolled up, something powder blue
It doesn't look as if it were a mere blob of glue

As Gob probes further, the roll comes off loose
It unfurls a bit more with a gentle little whoosh

On it are lines, some dotted and some with colour
Series of symbols, some smaller and others taller

As Gob spreads it out fully over the kitchen table
The roll seems to spell out details of an arcane fable

Ah! But you my dear friend, have to wait a bit more
For Gob pauses now, hearing someone at the door!

On a Boggy Sunday, July 18, 2004...

Pages Within

Gob's Newspaper!

So Grauballes' cousin had vanished into the world unknown
Gone on a permanent vacation without a holiday loan

The report debates the future of the bog, without
But within Gob's mind it finds no resonating shout

How ironic, Gob thinks, that his presence made no news
But now that he was gone forever, it took on vivid hues!

How insane the bog was, to take little notice of souls
When they were very much present, and not absent like ghouls

Funny how the world in general, though bustling with incessant life
Thrusts the living into oblivion until they are murdered with a knife

Oh well, thinks Gob, and turns to the page beyond
Stares at a full page feature of a gullible bog-soul conned

Everyday it was the same, some new victim notwithstanding
The name of the publication could very well be, "Injustice Unending"!

Flipping a few more sheets brings Gob to the world page
Here is a riveting profile of an extra-boggy wise sage

It seems the sage could remember happenings, a century old
A blurry picture shows the sage, sitting with a cross-legged fold

Wearing garments of Crimson, hair heaped to a curly bun
The sage's face is serenity itself, a smile radiant as the sun

"Peace", the sage, it seems said, "is so hard to come by."
"Yet the world flirts with war, a despicably big lie!"

"Greed drives all the souls in it, blinding them to simple love
They burn and plunder, and in the end, kick out the olive carrying dove."

As Gob contemplates this little message with a stream of thoughts
Flips the page again to come to the favourite game of "Join The Dots"!

Grabs a soggy pencil and traces the unknown outline
Is disgusted beyond words when it takes a shape, Grauballine!

Can't help wondering if there's a limit at all, to this unhealthy obsession?
Debating to death a long-gone soul, it seems, is the next big boggy passion!

On a Boggy Thursday, July 15, 2004...

Gob's Blank Wall...

When The Soul Shuts...

It has been long, my friend, it certainly has been
A period of staring at space, for thoughts are lean

Gob has one of those moments now with an eternity numbed
Pages of memories flit by, with not a thought thumbed

As the news breaks and washes over Gob's sands of time
Gob stands there with pail & trowel as if in a pantomime

A castle & moat remain to be built on the beaches of life
But how can Gob's mind go ahead, when it is full of strife?

On a Boggy Sunday, July 11, 2004...


In Gob's Bog

Meanwhile in the lair it is time to contemplate
As Gob's little mind decides whether to get up late

But as Gob slumps back lazily into the fluffy bed
Sees the odd thing by the window, a queer shade of red

Oh Right! Gob did have the better part of the day
To explore the contents of the purple castaway

But now as the light comes streaming into the little abode
At the door comes knocking the news-mongering horde

Now Gob has to get up and walk by the window
With a small bunch of sphagnum streamers in tow

Yep! Those are what Gob makes, to barter for news
The streamers help Gob trade in the world views

As Gob walks by the window, another head pops up
Peeps in at the window and asks Gob, "What's Up?"

Oh dear! Gob now wishes there were no windows and doors
The portals to a stream of pesky badgering rumour-whores

The newest head is of Meanie - The epitome of gossip
Sometimes Gob wished Meanie were castigated by a whip!

Alas! Gob is an observant mild-mannered introvert
Knows very well that belaboring someone would only subvert

All vestiges of conscience and all thoughts of reform
Could anticipate respect melting and hate entering in a swarm

One who is given to vice, cannot be contained with wrath
A little wisdom is needed before you enter the warpath

Think clearly of who your enemy really is
Are they worth spoiling your two cents worth of bliss?

If not, then why waste your precious energy in haste?
A future lies in store with many more pleasures ahead to taste

So Gob exchanges with Meanie some meaningless pleasantry
Moves ahead to hear about news of the happenings, in the hours wee

The News-Mongers are waiting in an impatient mood
They are part of a young and restless boggy brood

Shutting the door, a big screaming headline, Gob now confronts
Grauballes' cousin is indeed missing, from amongst the boggy fronds!

On a Boggy Friday, July 09, 2004...

The hunter from beyond...

John rules the skies from his eyrie above
A sharp pair of eyes beneath his bushy brow

A visage as keen as it is indomitably fierce
Talons so well-honed, easily could they pierce

The toughest of hides, in the bloodiest of savage battles
Be it a nimble-footed hare or the threat of serpentine rattles

Gob once had had a chance to see 'em up close
After all Gob was one of John's oldest foes

But Gob's erudition won over John, ever so grudgingly
For Gob faced the winged beast who made pettier mortals flee

John had a vivid taste of Gob's fiery eloquence
Was surprised since his quarries were mostly rather dense

Gifted Gob with life in return for his passionate plea
It was indeed, for a mere speech, a highly valued fee

And so, the hunter's war-cries float down from the skies
To swiftly prey on liars and crooks; rid the Bog of their lies...

On a Boggy Tuesday, July 06, 2004...

An Infernal Vision...

In Gob's Lair...

So we return even before the dawn breaks
The Bog's unending thirst, the stubborn rain slakes

Pitter Patter is not definitely the sound it makes
Slosh Slooosh is what one hears, if one suddenly wakes

We softly peep in through Gob's little lair door
Fast asleep is Gob, dreaming about some lore

Into Gob's dreams we enter silent and light
Whom does Gob usually have in nightly visions to fight?

A purple haze fills the high-roofed arena
Gob is in court under a subpoena

The Judge peers at Gob through glasses a mile deep
He probably believes what you sow is what you reap

But what has poor Gob sown to deserve this?
A courtroom dream to disturb Gob's sleepy bliss

Clipetty Clipetty Clop, big boot steps resound
Along with the ruthless braying of a police hound

A huge swarthy officer brings in some more evidence
The court is further enveloped in purple putrid incense

Gob meanwhile is almost ready to violently puke
Couldn't care less if that were in presence of a duke

Senses assailed by the obnoxious scent
By the shrieking belch of Gob, the air around is rent

The officer meanwhile has unsheathed the evidence
Then withdraws to lean by the court's corner fence

On the wooden table-top right in the middle
The purple alien from the bog lies fit as a fiddle

Gob's eyes bob in and out in utmost bulging horror
As, at the purple nemesis Gob stares in terror

From the back of the court comes a collective gasp
Several voices chatter in a very excited rasp

The Judge gets up, disgusted by the scene
He is pretty massive and far from being lean

He thinks some and then raises his infernal mallet
But as he does his hand suddenly seems to miss his wallet

The mallet hovers unceremoniously over the table in mid-air
The Judge seethes, however the chatterers don't seem to care

Gob cowers with fright in the malefactor box
Sweat runs down profusely and soaks Gob's socks

Suddenly the whole court spins to a whirl
The purple haze vanishes with a little twirl

Gob wakes up from a nightmarish trip
Licks over slowly a very dry lower lip

In the dim light of the wet and early dawn
Gob then hears the cries of the hunter, John

On a Boggy Monday, July 05, 2004...

Gob Explores...

In a boggy lair...

A long slither takes Gob to the dark little lair
It is Gob's home in the midst of the Boggy mire

All that wet weather outside makes Gob rage and fume
It makes an already funereal Bog, look more like a tomb

Once inside, Gob scrutinizes the odd purple booty
Licks it a bit to find that it tastes a bit salty & sooty

It is shaped in a shape that Gob has never known
As Gob tries to figure it out, forehead wrinkles into a frown

On its purple surface it has an interesting little part
It shimmers in rainbow colours, here and there they dart

As Gob pries more, the purple thing breaks suddenly in two
It has a hollow inside with a roll of something light blue

Oh! The mystery deepens, Gob thinks what in the Bog it could be
Can't guess as to what this thing is except, its not a living flea

Let us part for today and join Gob at the break of another dawn
In this tale of life as a bog there are many who play the pawn

On a Boggy Sunday, July 04, 2004...

The Purple Stranger...

Enters The Bog !

As Gob peers hard through the failing light
At the source of the scent so intoxicatingly right

Eyes grow wider and keener by the seconds
Must be somethin' good or so Gob reckons

Straining are Gob's Pupils in their diametric might
Bewildered Gob is, as it comes within sight

In the midst of all that wild boggy bushy muck
Lies a purple creature shaped very unlike a duck

Gob slithers closer and eyebrows shoot higher
Grauballes' cousin has been smuggled out the mire!

Pity overwhelms Gob for that misshapen rubbery beast
He who rested for long and troubled no one in the least

For a moment Gob forgets the purple interloper
Not unlike the distracted worried housekeeper

For Gob sees the muddy trail that leads out the Bog
Thinks, it's very unlikely that the beast went for a jog !

Thinking so, Gob turns, and eyes catch sight again
Of the queer little purple alien in the pouring rain

It has not moved , nopes, not even an inch
Gob thinks of giving it an almighty pinch

Its scent is fast vanishing in the wetness of the Bog
Gob hears the approaching rant of Meanie -The Frog

If Gob wants to know the mystery of the purple guest
The best now would be to avoid the froggy pest

In the recklessness of the moment impatient Gob hurries
Hides the purple stranger under his hood and scurries

On a Boggy Saturday, July 03, 2004...

A Scented Hunt...

Through The Bog

As Gob tracks near, a crack of vicious light
Strikes close by, leaving Gob's heart in fright

What Gob fears is not the luminous threat
The Bog excels in getting unpleasantly wet

Makes moving difficult, makes life messy
Ruins one's attire, especially when its dressy

Gob's little bag with its silver spoon and fork
Rattles a bit as it brushes by the Bog folk

"Meanie, The Nut" - a frog to be precise
Looks in awe at "Gob, The Vile & The Wise"

But today is not the day for trifling little banter
No time to lend an ear to the puny measly ranter

For the scent draws very near, enticingly warm
The big splash still echoes, the Bog rippling in form

Parting the heavy curtains of thick spaghnum velvet
What Gob beholds is withheld for morrow, don't fret!

On a Boggy Friday, July 02, 2004...

Another day...

In Gob's Bog

Another day in Gob's life, a sojourn in the Bog
Unnoticed passes existence, no limelight does it hog

Thick and mossy the sky appears, as eyes glance beyond
A patch of blue they thirst for, obscured by a hungry frond

A meaning Gob doth seek to ease this wretched trek
Sometimes darkness descends heavy, robbing every feck

Yet some days dawn bright and gay tolling bells ring out
Doom is banished away and hope completes a rout

Fury lashes, voices scatter, and finally end with a splash
Into the prey's consciousness, a wafting scent doth dash

An evil smile spreads over Gob's face, wily and twisted
It's time to relish forbidden fruits, get unknowns listed ...

On a Boggy Thursday, July 01, 2004...

Blogging on Gob's Bog

Why such a tongue twisting name? Well, life as I know it
is so uncannily similar to a Bog.

Still, why a "Bog"?, the persistent ones among you
might ask.

I answer with verse:

Carefully one treads in life, just as it is
Sucked in quickly, though contrary we may wish

Unpredictable as a bog, it does seem now and then
Predictable it was, though you can't remember when

Life abounds, and so does weary death
Cased in a brown and stained old breath

Stagnating and acidic; teeming with menace
On the surface though it seems, delicate as a lace

Flowers with colour and a charming queer smell
Get pricked by one and in your eyes, tears swell

Bouncing with vitality, appearances are fake
Beneath you find carcasses embalmed at stake

O persistent querying soul, did you find your response?
Lean back if you did, and in your couch be ensconced